


Eiswein

by ifreet



Category: Black Books
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's morning.  Bernard does not approve of morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eiswein

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yukihada](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=yukihada).



> For yukihada, who falsely claims that the first time I met her, I tried to get her drunk (it was the second time). Gen. Bernard + wine = OTP

Awareness washed over him like breakers smashing into a rock. A fragile eggshell of a rock that was in danger of caving in, smashing up or washing away. Possibly all three.

Possibly sooner rather than later, if Manny persisted in bleating his name like a demented seal washed up on the shore: Bernard, Bernard, Bernard.

"Oh, God, _what_." He floundered upright, noticing neither Manny expertly ducking flailing limbs nor him pressing a warm mug into the nearer hand. It was no good noticing Manny--it only gave him ideas. He took a sip though. Hot. Not-wine. Good in spite of that. He squinted into the mug. "Coffee?"

"Yes."

He turned to look at Manny a touch too fast, and the room--which was bright today, Jesus--spun slightly in the wake of the motion. Manny didn't seem hopped up on caffeine, which was just as well, since he simply didn't have the energy to watch Manny leaping about on desks and chasing 'perps.' But he was looking rather shifty beneath the beard.

"So, Bernard, I was wondering--"

"Ah ha! I knew it! You come in here with your coffee and your wiles and your coffee-wiles, thinking you can pull one over on me. No. Whatever it is, the answer is no."

Manny opened his mouth in an obstinate and insubordinate way.

"No!" He regretted it immediately--the word made his head throb.

Manny sighed in a put-upon fashion, but said only, "Suit yourself." He then retraced the meandering path out of Bernard's bedroom, footsteps crunching on the carpet. Bernard suspected Manny meant something ruder whenever he used that particular phrase, but since he'd retreated and left the coffee, Bernard decided to accept victory gracefully.

Coffee alone wouldn't dispel the insistent pounding, though. He reached cautiously down beside the bed, careful not to corner any of the scuttling creatures that had recently taken up residence. They pinched when frightened. His fingers made contact first with the cool, rounded side of the bottle, then the slight roughness of the label's edge. They skimmed smoothly along the hard bottle to the smooth curve of its swanlike neck. He gripped it firmly, raising it from the floor. It sloshed merrily in response.

He shoved the mug onto his bedside table. Something unimportant--could have been the clock, he couldn't keep track of everything--dropped off the far side. His hand hovered over the available glasses for a moment, settling on the one with the tacky-jammy bit at the bottom as the one with the least dust. He didn't used to mind dust--he still didn't mostly--but dusty cups now filled him with a sort of pastel-colored fear and loathing. He shuddered involuntarily and splashed the wine into the glass, a portion of which sloshed over onto his fingers. Bernard licked them clean absently, then pressed the glass to his lips and took a mouthful of wine. His eyes closed, enjoying the easy way it slipped over his tongue and down his throat, the way it warmed him from the inside out.

All too soon, the glass was finished. He set the glass back on the nightstand and dropped the empty bottle back to the floor, then headed downstairs. Manny was clattering about in the kitchen, but he turned when Bernard entered.

"Don't know how you can sleep in your clothes," he muttered before turning back to the stove.

Bernard blinked at him, looked down at himself and back at Manny. "I refuse to participate in a system of clothing that keeps nightclothes separate from their daytime brethren."

There was a moment's pause as Manny translated into the language of his hairy home world and Bernard patted down his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. "You don't own any pajamas."

"I might," he retorted loftily.

"Right," Manny said.

Bernard had a thing or two to say about that, but he was busy lighting a cigarette, and by the time he'd finished, the moment had passed. He turned away towards the shop. The shop respected him and never sulked when he yelled. But as he pushed the curtain aside, someone jabbed him in the eye with an ice pick. At least, that's what it felt like. He staggered backwards and knocked into one of the chairs. Thankfully, the curtain fell back into place, removing the source of pain if not the after-images. Green rectangles the shape of the front windows floated before his eyes, filling his vision. He glared in a vaguely Manny-ish direction.

"How early is it?" He loaded the words with as much menace as he could. It was morning-bright out there, and no one needed books in the morning. _No one_. And as if it weren't bad enough that Manny had continued to defy his wishes on the subject of shop hours, now he was waking him up to do so! That was it. The rule was going on the blackboard, even though after he killed Manny there would no longer be a shop assistant to obey it.

"It's eleven." Manny sounded insufferably smug but looked like a green rectangle.

Bernard squeezed his eyes shut. The rectangles danced behind his eyelids. "How do you explain this then?" He flapped an arm towards the front.

"It snowed all night, and now the sun's reflecting off the snow. Lovely, isn't it?" Bernard snarled, but Manny spoke right over him. "But the streets are impassable. I was going to suggest not opening the shop, but..."

Shuffling half-blindly to the cabinet gave Bernard a moment to think. He could insist upon opening the store. On the plus side, there would be relatively few customers. On the minus, the few that did wander in following a blizzard would be guaranteed lunatics. Or he could let Manny have his way and possibly hold it against him later.

He found a wine bottle through a blend of peripheral vision and keen instinct and tucked it into the crook of his arm--the bottle fit there like it was made for him. That decided it. "Fine, have your snow day. I don't care. I'm going back to bed."

And clutching the bottle to him like a lover, he did just that.


End file.
